


a work

by Solicitude



Category: Personal Work - Fandom, sols stories
Genre: OC, Original Character - Freeform, Original work - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-08
Updated: 2020-11-07
Packaged: 2021-03-08 23:34:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 277
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27444946
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Solicitude/pseuds/Solicitude
Summary: hey! i'm sol, a 13-15 year old free-time author. i doubt my writing will ever go anywhere but i still find it enjoyable, so here i am :)"a work" is a series of mini-stories/one-shots based off of nothing in particular. i write when i feel like writing, so there is no set schedule for chapter releases as of now :(
Kudos: 1





	a work

i lay on my back, staring up into genuine nothingness.

this isn’t one of those aesthetically pleasing stories- the ones where the main character lies on their back, staring up into the stars and thinking of their significant other, soulmate, other part. in those stories, the stars would sparkle and smile at them and the wind would slightly pick up while that soft green grass shifts slightly and as our main character turns their head to the side, they see the love of their life settling down next to them just to watch the moon in their presence.

this isn’t a story, though. this is real. this is life. this is staring up at your cobweb-patterned off-white ceiling, the fan turning and making a clicking noise every full circle because the pull chain is just too long and just too cheap to avoid hitting the light bulb. 

i’m in a white hoodie with “DUNDER MIFFLIN” written in blue on the chest. diamond patterned baby blue sheets and a scholastic packing box which was conveniently ‘borrowed’ from the school hover over my left field of vision. 

i don’t pay attention.

i’m not entirely sure what i am paying attention to. my right hand traces the outline of my left hands fingers through my hoodie pocket. i rub circles into my palm. despite the almost calculated movements of my digits my mind is elsewhere, and again, i cannot tell you where.

what i can tell you, is that i will lie here a while- not in the soft green grass with the warmth of my lover, but on the firm navy carpet with the chill of my just-cheap-enough fan.


End file.
